


All You Need is Love

by sapphirejubilee



Series: A Million Confessions [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20286115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirejubilee/pseuds/sapphirejubilee
Summary: Crowley was not exactly easy to love.  He knew that.  Angie had told him that only once and three thousand years later, he still remembered it.Because of this, he understood perfectly why Azira never said “I love you” to him.  After all, angels were not supposed to lie, even if Crowley himself had long ago stopped caring about the ethics of disobeying that rule.





	All You Need is Love

Crowley was not exactly easy to love. He knew that. Angie had told him that only once and three thousand years later, he still remembered it. 

Because of this, he understood perfectly why Azira never said “I love you” to him. After all, angels were not supposed to lie, even if Crowley himself had long ago stopped caring about the ethics of disobeying that rule. 

_I love you, and you like me_, was what Crowley thought to himself_. It’s quite simple. And it’s fine_. 

Even if Azira didn’t love him in the same way that he loved him, he could be quite happy. 

However, what he didn’t understand was why Azira had decided to torture him by saying things that made him _think_ he did. 

“Oh, aren’t you a dear,” he said jollily after Crowley got up and made them devil food pancakes. “Why, they look lovely! Thank you many.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, “I forgot…they’re covered in chocolate…”

“Oh, nothing to worry about!” Azira replied cheerfully. “All we have to do is add some whipped cream to exorcise them.”

_Poor Azira_, Crowley thought to himself. _I’ve made him poison for_ _breakfast!_ Some habits were just too hard to break.

“You’re not getting an allergic reaction? No welts? No swelling?”

“Why, no,” Azira said, taking a rather large forkful and almost dropping some onto himself (though no matter what, he never spilled on his suit, Crowley noticed, perhaps because he had been practicing this for six thousand years). “It’s delicious. Thank you, love.”

Even knowing that every angel’s favorite word to call another person is “love,” Crowley still felt something cool (a demon, whose internal organs are much like a boiler, is more apt to associate coolness with pleasant things) in his stomach…and smiled, despite himself. It was seldom that Crowley cooked, instead of stealing it or buying it wrapped individually with plastic (out of habit, not because he really wanted to damage the environment, but he was so used to having to keep up with Lord Beelzebub’s weekly Micropollution Quota). But now, he had more of a reason to cook, he supposed.

He had assumed that it would be an isolated incident. But a mere few days later, Azira popped it on him yet again, just as he was leaving. All Crowley did was open the door for him, again, completely out of habit and without being prompted to. Yet Azira turned to him as if he’d just hung all the stars up in the sky all over again, and said “You’re such a darling. Love you!” 

Crowley was so confused, he nearly let the door go, which would not have been good as this particular door was built to be heavy so that it would stub the toes of or slam into anyone who didn’t properly support it (Again, to please lord Beelzebub and keep up with his Minor Inflicted Pain Quota). 

Azira smiled and put his hat back on his head. “Tomorrow, at my place?” he asked. 

Crowley had to force the words back through his brain and out of his mouth. “Yes,” he croaked. 

“My, you’re not getting hoarse, are you?”

“No…”

“Hm…you haven’t been talking as much lately,” Azira raised an eyebrow. “Well, a cupful or two of honey and hot water should fix you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” 

“What?”

“Er…no, that’s not necessary,” Crowley mumbled, kicking one foot and stubbing it on his stupidly heavy door, immediately regretting it. 

“And why not?” Azira looked concerned. “Is it mono? Can demons get mono?”

“No,” Crowley said, which was a fucking lie because he had gotten mono about four thousand years ago and hated it so much that he personally started working on the world’s first vaccine for it (although being the first to exist didn’t mean it was also the first to work…which was strange, because one would think that after four thousand years he would have had at least one small breakthrough). 

“Well that’s good!” Azira brightened, then dimmed again, and started speaking a little fast and squeakily. 

“No,” Crowley said, even though he hadn’t really heard what Azira was saying, he only wanted him to stop before he ran out of breath.

“No?” Azira looked concerned. Crowley decided to change his answer.

“I mean, yes.”

“YES?” Azira asked, as horrified as if God has just announced she might kill all the sheep tomorrow. “Crowley, that’s awful! You must go see a doctor then! I’ve known so many people who died because they didn’t. Please, Crowley, you can’t really be having throat cancer, are you?”

“I –” Crowley clamped his mouth shut. He was supposed to be in control. He was supposed to be calm. Why was he losing it? “No, I don’t have throat cancer.”

“But all those cigarettes,” Azira lamented.

“Oh, those don’t do a thing,” Crowley lied, even though his last doctor had warned him his blood pressure was a little high (and then he started asking too many questions about his diet, most recent sexual partners, and the fact that he had apparently lived in Chernobyl for ten years, at which point he had to leave). 

“They don’t? How come?” Azira asked, puzzled.

“Uhhh…demon?” Crowley suggested. 

Azira stared at him. 

“Smoke, um, good for my system,” Crowley said, coughing, which only seemed to convince Azira that he was nearer than ever to rejoining God. 

“Well, if you say so,” Azira said. He then leaned in and kissed him. Not on the cheek or mouth, just briefly on the forehead. “Best to go to the doctor. We can always grab our tea later.” And with that, he set off for his bookstore.

Crowley stood there dumbfoundedly for a second, frozen to his spot. After a moment or so, he reached up to feel the spot on his forehead where Azira had kissed him, forgetting that he was holding the door in place, which in turn stubbed his other foot.

_Don’t overthink it, you dumb demon. He was just doing it so he could heal you. And now he’s wasted a miracle on healing you from cancer that you don’t have. _

But it was with slightly mussed hair, two stubbed feet, and a stupid grin on his face that Crowley went back to his room to sit and do nothing for a while. 

Satan, there were some things about Azira that just drove him crazy sometimes. 

Well, a list of such things would be incomplete without the third incident. 

It happened when Crowley was doing spring cleaning. Not a lot of demons liked to do spring cleaning; many just burned their things, increasing the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and ultimately furthering Beelzebub’s goals, or allowed their hoards of junk to clutter, committing the Sins of Greed and Sloth in one shot. Crowley had done that for about two to three thousand years, and somewhere around three thousand point five he decided to stop doing it and be a bit more thrifty and get rid of what he didn’t need. 

“Crowley?” Azira’s voice called from the front door. 

_Oh, right._ He’d begun spring cleaning around the same time that he learned Azira did spring cleaning. 

Well, it only made sense. He never hung around with other demons (or people, for that matter, except for Angie briefly, accompanying her to the museum and art stalls at the farmer’s market). He didn’t know how other quasi-immortals dealt with it all – the excess memories, the excess knowledge, the excess connections, the excess objects. A few desperate times he nearly converted back and implored God to end it all for him, but every time he changed his mind and briefly repented to Satan for his lack of faith. And now with Azira, he didn’t have to do it anymore. 

Of course Azira must have been the one to show him the way. It had to be him.

“Coming.”

Crowley tried not to open the door too quickly and reveal his overeagerness.

“Afternoon!” Azira greeted him sweetly, all sunny and dressed in a fluffy pink apron. God – well, Satan, he looked like a pink frosted cupcake. Or a pink teddy bear.

“Afternoon.”

“Oh! No glasses today, eh?” Azira asked.

Azira had never remarked on him showing his eyes before. Now Crowley felt self-conscious about them. 

“I forgot – I’ll be a moment, I’ll go put them back on-”

“Oh sorry! No, Crowley, you don’t have to do that,” Azira chuckled warmly, “I was just thinking, it’s been years since I’ve seen your eyes like this. Always used to seeing you in the specs.”

_They’re not specs, they’re _**sunglasses**, the pain-in-the-ass intellectual side buried deep inside Crowley wanted to point out, but he didn’t.

“Well, if you don’t mind them, I might just leave them off when it’s just the two of us at my place,” Crowley said, a bit relieved.

“Yes, of course! Let me see those lovely peepers,” Azira smiled.

Crowley grunted, but not as a response, more out of an automatic reaction. 

Angels never grunt because angels never forget what they are going to say or have to swallow their words. Demons, on the other hand, are not as poised. When they’re concentrating on something, their faces look particularly stupid. When they can’t think of something to say, like Crowley at this very moment, they cannot help but make undignified grunts.

But who could blame him? Nothing about Crowley was lovely, he knew this. When God made all ten of her commandments, every angel fantasized about creating their own ten statements about themselves (which nowadays can be found on certain special Tinder profiles, if one is lucky enough), and to an extent so did some demons. Crowley was never really interested in it, but if there was a set of ten statements he’d like to lay down, one of them would be that nothing about him was Lovely.

He knew it, in his every thought and action. His clothes were, well, what Angie once described as “tacky.” His posture and expressions were “oddly stern.” His hair was “sometimes passable,” and he could not help looking a little stiff and being a little stiff, both in face and body. He would never be pretty or handsome, and he probably would never be able to walk into a room and exude peace and joy like Azira did. 

Oh, it was sad that for him, Azira had to lie. Crowley swallowed and made another audible grunt.

“Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The two of them rolled up their sleeves and started to clear away things. Suits, plants (lots of dead plants, Azira remarked obliviously), trinkets, power cords, power cables that didn’t power anything, power cables that would have been useful ten years ago, extra HDMI cables from a friend in America, extra sunglasses in case he ran out of his regular pair, petri dishes with Epstein-Barr viruses (“DON’T TOUCH THOSE!” Crowley yelled, even though Azira could probably just miracle the mono away), special anniversary Queen merchandise, extra leather jackets, extra black suits, old razors, more power cords, some more petri dishes that looked like they might be growing the next Black Death…

“Alright, I think that’s everything, let’s go through the sentimental items now,” Azira panted. 

His very first Queen CDs, some antique items that would fetch no money on eBay, some things that looked important but probably weren’t (“So you DID burn down the Library of Alexandria!” “I’m telling you, I don’t remember such a thing!”), some things that were not actually bookstands (“Crowley, that is a _live_ _grenade_-” “Well I just thought it looked nice!”) and sadly, his antique answering machine, which was now ruined from having Hastur in it.

The one he really regretted not throwing out earlier, however, was an item that did not belong to any of the former categories. In fact, it rather stood out, being the only one of its kind.

“Crowley – is that – who is this?” Azira asked, picking up the picture frame and turning it over.

“Let me see – oh, it’s Angie,” Crowley said, grumbling. 

Azira stared at the picture. “Wait, I know her.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and squinted. “You do?”

“Yes, of course. She used to be my boss. Uriel, right?”

Crowley looked up, freezing.

“Were you two…lovers?” Azira asked, swallowing. 

“Angie was…she was an angel?” Crowley demanded. 

Azira blinked, then opened his mouth again. “Yes, patron saint of the arts.”

Crowley looked down at the ground. “Mother of Satan!” He hissed. “She made me think she died! Her friends all told me she was dead!”

“Oh, no,” Azira laughed nervously, “She’s definitely alive…and kicking. Kicking very vigorously.”

“I should have known,” Crowley hissed. “The name’s such a dead giveaway. Go-Satan! She didn’t use to look like this,” he hissed. “I used to work with her on developing the ancestor of antibiotics! I’m so stupid.”

“You are not stupid,” Azira insisted, suddenly serious. “You’re one of the most brilliant people I know. That’s why I love you.”

Crowley snapped, “You don’t have to keep saying that! I know very well what I am, thank you!”

A moment passed.

“You know very well that you are what?” Azira asked quietly.

Crowley, once known as an archangel so brilliant that he was entrusted with coming up with miraculous cures to every new strain of disease and studying the various germs that God created, said something stupid. Now, saying something stupid does not take a lot of words. Some people are so stupid, that their stupidity takes a little longer and a bit more words to register. But all it took Crowley was five. 

“Not lovable,” Crowley mumbled, “That’s for sure.”

Azira frowned.

“But I mean it, Crowley. When I say that I…I love you.”

“Stop,” Crowley grunted again, “I get it, you’re an angel, you love all creatures. You could love things even not a mother could. God made you that way.”

“You were once an angel! And where is all of this coming from? No, I don’t love you-”

Crowley looked away, wishing he had his sunglasses on.

“Where are you looking, Crowley?”

“I can’t listen. I’m sorry. I’m going to chuck out the picture-”

“Crowley, hold your fire!”

Crowley wanted to snap again, but Azira grabbed him by the hand and yanked it hard enough to surprise him. He froze, unsure if he should move. If he moved, Azira might let go of him, and he hated himself for it, but he didn’t want that.

“Crowley, I don’t understand what you are saying.” He paused. “What’s with that face?”

Something wet was dripping down his nose and chin. Crowley wiped it off hurriedly. “Nothing. It appears I’ve said something stupid.” Then he did what any person in his place would’ve done; turned into a snake and tried to jump out of Azira’s grip. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Azira said, exasperated. He groped at Crowley with his other hand frantically. Crowley hissed and wiggled desperately, but to no avail, as Azira refused to let him go. He tried to snap at him, but Azira seemed convinced he wouldn’t actually bite him, which was unfortunately true. Then his grip became too tight and started choking him, so he slapped Azira’s hand with his tail instead, which made him let go. 

As he attempted to slither away, though, Azira let out a shout of “Oh no you don’t!” and stomped after him. Crowley was so alarmed at the sight that he entirely stopped moving, which gave Azira the opportunity to scoop him up again, causing Crowley to panic and launch himself forward, which in turn made Azira jump after him like a mad frogman. 

They wrestled like this for a few minutes, until Crowley realized he’d already gotten two noise complaints from the neighbors and he had only lived in this place for about twenty years, which was not long enough to justify making the landlord disappear under mysterious circumstances again. 

Thus, Crowley found himself hissing “Ffffffffine! Ssssstop it!” before he undid the transformation, which immediately alarmed Azira and caused him to let out a high-pitched screech. Seconds later, after much wrestling and whimpering, he found himself lying on his humanoid stomach with Azira on all fours above him, still screaming. 

“Would you shush!” Crowley snarled, and made an effort to turn around and face him. 

“I – augh, well, it’s not my fault that someone’s coping mechanism is _turning into a reptile!_” Azira panted, still a little shaken. He took a few breaths to calm himself, then realized the position they were in and immediately stumbled to his feet, blushing. 

Crowley remained on the ground and looked up at him, watching carefully.

Azira sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Crowley, every day with you is a test in itself,” he sighed. Crowley inadvertently must have seemed sad or something, as he immediately added “I don’t mean that in a bad way, of course!”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Crowley grumbled, “That’s what my purpose was. God put me into Her plan to test things. To test people. That is what the gear that I represent is supposed to do.”

“Well, if so,” Azira murmured softly, “Every day, I pray harder that I won’t fall in love with you and ruin this – this friendship. And every single time, I fail.” He sighed. “If you are a test, Crowley, then I’m afraid I will never pass, because I am too weak a fool to not care for you.” 

In that moment, things seemed to stay unsettlingly still. The ever-revolving Earth, in fact, stopped just briefly enough, so much that it was one second behind where it should really be for the rest of eternity. 

(This was not Crowley’s doing, but rather the local Antichrist’s, who coincidentally had just opened his very first virtual reality videogame headset and was so excited that time actually froze. However, normally Crowley would have noticed this, instead of merely attributing his impression of things to his nerves.)

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Crowley murmured.

“You said it yourself,” Azira said wryly. “I like you, Crowley. More than like you. Adore you, perhaps. Though that’s a strong word, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “Oh. Oh this is so bad. I had been hoping to tell you some other day. A better day. Not while covered in dust and dressed like – well, you know,” he chuckled again, pointing to the fluffy pink apron tied around his belly. “Oh, what fools we are. What a fool I am.” 

Crowley wanted to stand up and grab that apron and rip it off him. He wanted to run his hands through Azira’s lovely, fluffy white hair and kiss him and breathe in that heavenly, sweet scent. 

Instead, he remained on the floor, looking rather pathetic, and could only manage to say “This isn’t possible.” 

“Oh, it is, my dear boy,” Azira said. Crowley’s tummy started to feel funny.

“No, this can’t be,” Crowley said to himself, sitting up. “I must’ve…I must’ve…oh no,” he mumbled. “I’ve cursed you. I wished for it to happen, and Satan knows it would ultimately increase the impact of evil, so he let it happen. A demonic miracle. For no good.”

“Did he now,” Azira smirked, amused. “Quite an ingenious trick. The devil take this heart,” he said mock-dramatically.

“Oh, go to hell,” Crowley said, a smile forcing its way across his stupid, unlovable face.

“Already am,” Azira replied, smiling back brighter than ever.

He held out a hand and Crowley took it, letting him pull him back to his feet, and ending up in his arms.

“You silly demon,” Azira murmured fondly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist. “I swear, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Hm, a good angel shouldn’t go around swearing,” Crowley said, though he sounded too cheerful. He carefully put his arms on Azira’s shoulders, feeling a little self-conscious. _This should be the other way around_, he thought to himself. _I’m far too tall for this. And not too pretty_. 

“Well, I suppose I’m not a very good angel, am I?” Azira chuckled, “Now that I’ve fallen for you.”

A big grin spread across Crowley’s face. “Fallen, eh?”

“Yes, yes,” Azira rolled his eyes. 

“So to speak, you could be called…a fallen angel, ehhhh?” Crowley waggled his eyebrows. 

“Yes, you dumb demon,” Azira sighed, allowing Crowley to run a trembling hand through his hair. It was even fluffier than he’d imagined. Crowley felt giddy, like on the day he’d bought his Bentley.

“Can you say it again?”

“What? That you are dumb? You know I don’t mean it.”

“No, that you love me,” Crowley mumbled. “You...you said things, but I couldn’t be sure…if you really meant it…”

“I did? Oh, my poor darling, you must have been suffering!” Crowley leaned into Azira’s shoulder, allowing him to run his hand through his hair, and closing his eyes. He felt like a dog, warm and content. He hugged Azira back more tightly. “I’m afraid I must not have been paying attention when I said…whatever you are referring to. Is that why you thought you were…unlovable?”

“No,” Crowley muttered, “There was more to it…” He sighed and closed his eyes, “But it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Azira stood back and Crowley feared he was upset at him, but all he did was reach up and grab Crowley’s face. “That’s what centuries of dating Uriel will do to you, I’m afraid.”

“It wasn’t for centuries…oh,” Crowley blinked, realizing that it was not normal for most humans to survive past eighty during the time that he knew Angie. “Well, I guess it was a pretty long time.” 

“She’s horrible,” Azira murmured. “No wonder you’ve such a terrible self-esteem. You poor, poor thing.”

“Yes, pity me more,” Crowley crooned and Azira laughed, holding him a little tighter. “So you really love me?”

“Yes, my dear, I love you,” Azira mumbled, reaching up to stroke his face. Crowley tried his best to not betray how utterly pleased he was by this. 

“It won’t be easy for you, I’m afraid,” Crowley muttered warningly. 

“That’s alright with me.”

“I’ll never be a good-looking bloke, that’s for sure. I’ll never be handsome. You won’t be getting a pretty face out of it.”

“My darling, I couldn’t care less. I’ve seen you for millennia, and wearing so, so many atrocious and awful hairstyles.”

“What?” Crowley demanded, standing upright.

“Well, the sideburns-”

“My sideburns? _You’ve_ had sideburns!” Crowley pointed out. “You had the most awful ones when we worked for Warlock’s parents!”

“Yes, and you were one of _the_ most intimidating women I’d ever seen,” Azira chuckled. “But lovely.”

Crowley blinked, then shook his head and cackled. “I give up, Angel. Whatever game you’re playing, you win. There’s just no topping that.”

“Well, can’t blame a man for trying,” Azira smiled. “And me?” He asked, suddenly nervous. “Do you love me?”

Crowley stared at him. Azira started to hyperventilate, as if he thought the floor might turn to lava at any moment (which, it had done before, and Crowley was very sorry for having caused it to during those times).

“What a question,” Crowley said, “I’ve been in love with you for six thousand years.”

Azira gulped. “All this time?”

Crowley smiled wistfully. “You have no. Idea. How long I’ve wanted you,” he sighed, running his hand through Azira’s hair again. Azira inhaled sharply and leaned into his touch slightly. “My best friend,” he smiled again. “My favorite angel.”

Azira closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Your angel,” he echoed softly. 

Crowley felt a tremble of excitement run down his spine. The devilish side in him sparked to life, and leaned in close to Azira’s ear, and murmured “All mine now, isn’t that right?” Azira shivered and nodded slightly, shyly. 

“Yes, all yours, if you want me that is,” Azira said quietly.

Crowley grinned and went immediately for the strap of the pink apron, yanking at it cruelly. “Well, then, will you mind if I…seduce you to the dark side?”

“So fast,” Azira murmured, as if he was feeling quite beset upon. “Are all demons like this?”

“I don’t know, angel,” Crowley hissed, leaning into his ear. “Why don’t you join me, and find out?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know the title is basic but I couldn't think of anything else and I think the song suits this story at least.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, you can find me on tumblr at sapphirejubilee. Please don't cancel me.


End file.
